Getting Away
by aliis
Summary: Now that the crew have gone their separate ways, they're getting on with their lives.
1. Chapter 1

Standing on a hill looking out onto the Marches, Ash Morgan whistled and an excited Border collie came racing out from among the trees.

"That's it, Moss, come on. Attaboy." The dog circled madly, then tore off in the direction of the farmhouse, bounced off the gate, then started back up the hill again towards the master he adored. Ash suddenly caught sight of an unfamiliar green car as it made its way carefully up the rough track and into the farmyard. He quickened his pace to redirect yet another clueless English tourist whose GPS had taken them on a mystery tour. When he reached the road he was taken completely by surprise as the driver got out and he realised who it was.

"Ash!" There was that wonderful, warm twinkly smile.

"Stace! What the hell...I mean, it's fantastic to see you!" Overcoming his initial shock, he caught her in a big bear hug, causing her to squeal with delight.

"Lovely to see you too! And who's this?" Stacie bent down to pat Moss, who was anxious to meet this new friend. He pawed at Stacie's coat.

"He wants to shake your hand," explained Ash, and Stacie happily obliged.

"Now you've got a pal for life." He linked Stacie's arm through his and they went into the farmhouse kitchen, which Ash was relieved to have just thoroughly cleaned. A savoury aroma filled the air.

"Ash, have you gone all domesticated on me?! That smells absolutely delicious."

"Are you hungry? Here, give's your coat." He helped Stacie out of her heavy fur and hung it on the peg behind the door, then proceeded to ladle out two bowls of the chilli which he had made that morning. "Sorry I haven't got any homemade to go with it," he said, putting a plate of crusty bread on the table, "but the breadmaker's on the blink."

"Yeah, right," was her sceptical reply, then, "Wow, this is fantastic! When did you learn to make stuff like this?"

"When I came here. There was nothing else to do at first, and the nearest takeaway's in Shrewsbury."

"Well, I'd say you've definitely got a flair for it; either that, or you've been watching nothing but cookery programmes on TV."

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, but ate, occasionally looking at each other and smiling. Finally, when Stacie had eaten her fill, she said, "You must be wondering why I'm here."

"The thought had crossed my mind," replied Ash with an amused grin. Suddenly serious as an idea struck him, he asked, "There's nothing wrong, is there? Is Albert OK?"

"He's absolutely fine," Stacie reassured him. "Very much enjoying his retirement. No, it's me who needs your help." She paused, obviously finding it difficult to go on. Ash reached across the table to grasp her hand, and tears sprang into her eyes.

oooOOOooo

As the line of friends and relatives formed, waiting for their ID to be checked and visiting time to begin, Ash walked briskly to the front of the queue and leaned over the counter.

"DI Jackson to see prisoner Francis Monroe."

The guard took Ash's warrant card and inspected it, then scrutinised the visiting order documentation. "He's not down on the list to see anyone. I'll try and get him for you as quickly as possible. If you go through the gate the officer there will direct you to the legal visit room." He spoke via two-way radio to his colleague on the other side of the security turnstile, and she buzzed Ash in. A dog handler brought a large German Shepherd to have a good sniff and check the visitor for drugs.

"Empty your pockets into this tray, then step through the metal detector," instructed the woman.

Another officer prepared to pat Ash down. "Open your mouth wide, please, sir," he requested, then searched Ash's clothes and checked the soles of his shoes. "That's fine, thank you."

Ash collected the contents of the tray and was shown down a long corridor to a room signposted "Legal Visits Only".

"We'll have him down in about fifteen minutes," the prison officer said as he closed the door, leaving Ash to contemplate life inside. He was much relieved when, within a quarter of an hour the door on the other side of the room opened and a slightly-built, grey-haired man was ushered in.

"I'll be just outside," the guard explained, and left.

Frank Monroe sat down opposite Ash, looking bemused. "What's this about, then? My brief said it would be another fortnight before there was any movement on the appeal. The last thing I expected was a visit from the law."

Remaining alert to the possibility that their conversation was being monitored, despite the rules regarding privacy of legal visits, Ash stayed in character. "Another witness has come forward, Mr. Monroe, a man called Ash Morgan. Do you know him?"

A look of shocked recognition crossed Monroe's face for an instant, but he acted as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. "I remember him from way back. Does he think he can help me?"

"It looks as if there's a distinct possibility that he may be able to throw some light on your case, yes. He's a friend of your daughter's, I'm told."

Understanding now, Monroe smiled. "She's a good girl, Stacie. Always looking out for me."

"Well, somebody has to," retorted Ash, with a raised eyebrow.

The prisoner had got the message. "I'd be very grateful for whatever this guy Morgan can do to assist me. I'm just a bit concerned that it may be beyond his scope."

Stung by this ungrateful dig at his personal abilities, Ash said, "I think you'll find that he could well be a key witness in your appeal. However, if you don't want him to get involved, that's up to you." He rose to leave.

"No!" The mask of cockiness slipped, and a panicked Monroe stood up and reached for Ash's sleeve. Within a split second, the prison officer was back in the room. He had most likely been watching on CCTV and wanted to make sure not only that no harm came to the visitor, but also that no contraband was being passed. Ash had pulled away instinctively and this reaction only reinforced his guise as a policeman.

"Right, Frank, that's enough," said the guard, placing himself between the prisoner and Ash. "You know there's no contact allowed with legal visitors. Have you finished?" he asked of Ash, who in turn looked enquiringly at Monroe.

The older man ran a hand through his silvery mane. "It's...it's fine. If you can get this bloke to give a statement, or whatever it is he needs to do, I'm happy for him to do it. You tell him that," Monroe said, almost threateningly.

Outside in the prison car park, Ash exhaled deeply. Visits to the nick always unsettled him, although it was normally friends he was there to see. It had been the best part of thirty years since he and Frank Monroe had last laid eyes on each other, so it was no wonder the man had needed a bit of help recognising him, especially as he'd been told his visitor was a detective inspector. Ash checked his watch and knew he needed to get a move on if he was to meet Stacie at their appointed time and place.

oooOOOooo

"How is he?" Stacie's slightly shaking hands raised the teacup to her lips.

A lightning bolt of realisation hit Ash. "When did you last see him, Stace?"

Pushing back her long dark hair in a gesture reminiscent of her father's, Stacie sighed and answered, "Not since he went inside; almost six months now." She quickly countered Ash's look of puzzlement. "He won't allow me to visit him. He doesn't want me to see what this has done to him, thinks I won't be able to handle it, but he doesn't realise that it hurts me so much more to be told to stay away. I've written to let him know I miss him and want to visit, but all I get back is these curt little notes that say he won't submit a visiting order for me. And if he doesn't do that, I can't see him."

"All this even though he's innocent? Sorry, Stace, I have to ask."

"I know, I know. If he'd actually done something wrong I'd see the force of his argument, but to be this stubborn and stupid when it was a total set-up, and in the middle of getting his appeal together...you'd think he'd want to discuss things with me. But no." Near to tears once more, Stacie turned to look out of the café window.

Ash moved round the table to sit next to her, and gently put his arm around her shoulders. She crumpled quietly and he just held her for what seemed like hours.

After she felt better, she wanted to talk, but more privately, so Ash took her to a quiet park he knew not far away. There, they walked as she explained everything, and sat on a bench when he needed to ask questions. It took some time, but finally Ash understood. Stacie's father had been framed by her mother.


	2. Chapter 2

Ash had to return to Wales after his talk with Stacie. He had left Moss in the care of some friendly neighbours, four miles down the road from his farm, but he didn't want to take advantage of their kindness by staying away for a second night.

"For all Dad's refusal to see me, he's made certain I'm financially secure for the moment," Stacie said as she got ready to see Ash off at his hotel the next morning. "So if you'll let me, I'd like to rent you a cottage just out of town, near enough to be able to do anything here that you want to do, but far enough out into the country that Moss isn't stressed."

"Oh, he's a tough pup, he could cope if he had to, but I like the sound of your idea. Are you sure you want to do that, though? I doubt your dad gave you that money to throw at me."

"Absolutely positive, Ash. And thank you again for agreeing to help; Dad can be so stubborn, he probably didn't make it easy, knowing him."

Ash said nothing, but smiled and shook his head, then got into the car.

Stacie leaned on the driver's window sill. "I'll text you the directions to the cottage when I've got it sorted, all right?" She gave Ash a peck on the cheek and touched his face affectionately. "See you soon."

"Take care, Stace." Ash started the engine and drove off with a wave. The long journey back home would give him plenty of time to think about how they were going to tackle this.

Embezzlement was not a crime that was taken lightly, Ash had noticed of late. Any kind of property-relieving offences tended to be much more heavily penalised than acts of violence. This left Frank Monroe on a very sticky wicket, the charge against him being that he had defrauded his employer, an East London building firm, out of just short of a million quid. On the plus side, the company in question was unrelated to any organised crime family, much to Ash's relief. On the downside, however, was the fact that Frank's ex-wife, Stacie's mother Janice, had used her friendship with the wife of the company director to gain access to the firm's offices. She had gone on to liberate the funds from the corporate account, then pinned the theft on Frank by transferring the money into his bank. Ash could see where Stacie got her deviousness from.

Unfortunately, the most straightforward way to get Stacie's father out of trouble was to get her mother into it. This, Ash knew, was not an option. So Frank had to be absolved of all blame without it being shifted onto Janice, and this would be the trickiest aspect of their efforts.

Several ideas came to mind: first, finding a worthy third party to incriminate. Second, and this was more problematic, was to convince Frank's former employer (and the CPS) that it had all been a terrible mistake, and that no-one was to blame. The "It was only resting in my account" argument didn't carry much weight, though. The third potential route was to "prove" that Frank Monroe's identity had been stolen and that a person or persons unknown had succeeded in taking the money by pretending to be Frank. Finally, and this was Ash's current favourite, they could sabotage the Crown's case against Stacie's father by making it look as if evidence had been fabricated, or by planting legal documents with deliberate mistakes in them in order to have the verdict overturned and the conviction deemed unsafe.

Ash was so deep in thought that the journey flew in, and before he knew it he was almost at the Welsh border. The first thing to do when he got back to the farm would be some internet research. But before that, he needed to stop off and pick up some supplies in Shrewsbury, and of course there was a dog to collect too.

oooOOOooo

Rather than interrogate Stacie about her father's case, Ash made use of the online sources that had reported the story. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon, and he settled down by the fire with his laptop and a mug of tea to peruse the local and national papers' websites. Their accounts of the case included some details that Stacie could not have provided. Ash soon had a list of some of the main protagonists in the drama: Frank and Janice Monroe; Charlie Stanmore, managing director and owner of Leytonstone Building Ltd, and his wife Liza; and the lead Met officer Detective Inspector Marion Clark.

All the articles Ash found seemed to have used the _East London Gazette_ as their source, with its blow-by-blow account of the trial. What really stood out was that the Gazette's journalist had been remarkably well-informed on the fine points of Frank's case, so Ash jotted down his name for good measure: Brendan Lawrence. He would definitely be worth checking out.

Ash leaned back in his armchair, mulling things over as he gazed into the log fire. More than anything he had ever done, he wanted to be able to go to Stacie and tell her that he could fix this, that with his help her dad could walk free. But the reality was a long, long way from that. It would be heartless and unrealistic to give her hope where, in truth, there was very little. Her faith in Ash and his fixing skills, however well-placed, hadn't taken into account the unyielding English legal system, the fact that Janice had taken great care to put Frank exactly where she wanted him, and, loathe though Ash was to admit it, the limits of his own abilities. It was going to be hard to rectify the vengeful actions of a woman wronged by her husband of almost forty years.

With a sigh he stood up, stretched, and leaned on the high mantel shelf, looking down into the dying embers. He needed a break, the fire needed stoking, and there were hardly any logs left in the house, so it was time for a walk and some wood-cutting. Moss was at the front door, panting eagerly, before Ash had done anything more than think about it.

Despite the long hike along their customary route, Ash was no clearer on how to proceed when he returned to the farmhouse. Half an hour's strenuous work getting some firewood chopped up didn't help, either, so he decided it was time to put the Monroes from his mind for the moment and take a break. Remembering there was an FA cup tie on the telly gave him the incentive he needed to relax with a hot curry and a cold beer. He didn't notice the text message from Stacie until after the final whistle.

"Have booked your cottage near Reigate, directions a bit complicated so can you give me your email address? Thanks xx."

Feeling refreshed and looking forward to his "working holiday", Ash texted Stacie and soon got an email from her with the cottage's location, complete with map and directions to it from his place. Ash replied that he and Moss would drive down the next day, arriving around 5pm.

oooOOOooo

Stacie was there to meet them, having thoughtfully stocked the cottage kitchen with plenty of food, as well as ordering a Chinese takeaway to be delivered, so that they could talk and eat in peace.

"So what's the plan?" she asked eagerly as they unpacked the food cartons and divvied up the rice.

Despite his sinking heart, Ash smiled. "Easy, tiger. First things first. Tell me what your dad's brief has to say about his appeal. Does he have a good chance of it succeeding, or will he need to be able to point to someone else to clear his name?" He licked some stray black bean sauce from his fingers.

Stacie sighed. "Dad's motto is 'Never give the police nothing', not even if it's in your own interests," she explained, wielding her chopsticks at the chilli chicken noodles. "Stupid, I know. But it means he won't co-operate with them in the slightest."

"That explains why he wasn't very keen to see me when he thought I was a copper," replied Ash. "But surely he isn't prepared to go away for something he didn't do? If we can provide him with an alibi or, even better, put somebody else in the frame for it..."

"He won't lift a finger to help," interjected Stacie. "He's sure to think that clearing him will make the police look at Mum." She paused to consider for a moment. "But that doesn't mean if there was someone else that might have done it..."

"Preferably somebody who's either already doing time, or has snuffed it," suggested Ash somewhat brutally. "Either way, they can't complain."

Stacie's eyes narrowed. "I think I know someone who may be able to point us in the right direction," she mused. "Come on, eat up, we're going to Hammersmith."


	3. Chapter 3

"Rebecca, I'd like you to meet an old and dear friend of mine, Ash Morgan. Ash, this is Rebecca Ferris; we were at school together many, many moons ago."

"Lovely to meet you, Ash," smiled Rebecca. "Now what's this all about, Stacie? You piqued my curiosity with that phone call." They sat down in the comfortable living room of Rebecca's west London terraced home.

"I'd like to pick your brains about some people that worked at Leytonstone Building when you were there," replied Stacie, focusing her gaze squarely on Rebecca, who seemed rather taken aback at this request.

"Leytonstone! Goodness, _that_ wasn't yesterday, either," came the surprised response. Then there was a smile of recollection. "Your dad got me that job, Stacie, and I must say I wondered why he hadn't swung one for you, too."

Ash noticed the tiniest lift at the corner of Stacie's mouth and could tell that she, too, was remembering something. "I think I had found a job by that time, Rebecca." Stacie and Ash both knew what kind of work that would have been, and she steered the conversation back on topic. "Do you remember any of the staff that worked with Dad when he was the company accountant?"

"Um...oh, there was a man called Bob Spence...he shared an office with a couple of other blokes...I think one of them was Sheldon Murray; terribly respectable name for the most unscrupulous, grubby man I'd ever come across. Even as a teenager, I picked up that he was one to avoid. Then there was the boss's secretary, Miss Harkness. Gosh, was she old school! Married to the job, devoted every waking hour to looking out for the company's interests. My mum told me she went to her funeral a few years back."

All the while Rebecca was trying to recall names, Stacie stole little glances at Ash, and could tell he was committing each piece of information to memory. His expression didn't change, but she knew by the occasional flicker of his eyes that it was all being stored for later retrieval.

"Kenneth Lancaster!" Rebecca suddenly announced. "Your dad used to wind him up by calling him Yorkie. He was quite a quiet chap, though, hardly ever said two words to me in the year I worked there."

"Did you enjoy the job?" Ash asked, seemingly at random.

Rebecca pulled a face. "Well, 'enjoy' is probably putting it a bit strongly," she admitted. "I certainly learned a lot while I was there, and not just about filing, either!" She and Stacie grinned knowingly.

Stacie said, "I don't know if I'm imagining it or not, but didn't the boss's wife have a bit of a thing for one of the guys who worked there?"

There was a slightly awkward pause, then Rebecca said, "I didn't realise it had been common knowledge."

"Dad certainly knew," affirmed Stacie. "I partly overheard him telling Mum about it at the time, and wondered who had been stupid enough to go fooling around with Liza. Even at that age I think we both knew that Charlie wasn't somebody you messed with."

Nodding, Rebecca added, "There was a kind of unspoken agreement that we would all stay _shtum_ on the subject when we were at work. You never knew when Charlie was going to pop into the general office for something, so it was too risky to have a conversation about how his wife was at it with a man young enough to be her son."

"Simon Doyle!" exclaimed Stacie, astonished. "I never would have guessed it!" She turned to Ash and explained, "Simon was the only man in that office under the age of 35 – well under. You'd have thought that if he was interested in a female colleague, it would have been someone nearer his own age, like Rebecca."

"Not a chance," put in Rebecca with feeling. "He was far too smooth for my taste. Liza, on the other hand, loved flirting with younger men, I think it made her feel young herself, more attractive and desirable. Which she actually was," she added hastily, "but being married to Charlie had knocked any confidence she had clean out of her. I didn't understand that at the time, I was too young, but when I've looked back I've realised that must have been part of what was going on."

"Office politics, eh," grinned Ash. "Do you ever keep in touch with any of them?"

With a frown, Rebecca answered slowly, "I would've thought that your dad would still be in contact with a couple of them, Stacie. Did he not take quite a bit of responsibility when it came to Yorkie's retirement party?" When Stacie shrugged, Rebecca continued, "Yes, I'm sure that's the case. So I'd imagine he'd be the one to ask." Something seemed to suddenly strike her. "Oh, Stacie, your dad _is_ still..." She grasped Stacie's hand in horror.

"Oh, goodness, yes, he's still alive and kicking, very much so!" Stacie laughed, patting her friend's hand comfortingly. "I actually thought it might be nice if I was able to track down some of his old workmates for him."

Ash suppressed a chuckle at this version of their plans.

Relieved, Rebecca said, "Oh, a reunion? What a perfect idea! Well, now that you've said _that_, I really must dig out my old address book for you. Hang on a tick, I'll pop upstairs and see if I can find it."

Ash's raised eyebrows told Stacie that perhaps they were leading Rebecca too far up the garden path. However, she soon returned and broke the disappointing news that she had disposed of a lot of old papers and diaries just a few months before, and the address book seemed to have been among them. Full of apologies, she offered to ring her mother and enlist her help, but Stacie managed to avert further indiscretion by saying it wasn't a problem, she still had a few other people to speak to.

"Now, if you do find that you can't get those names and addresses from anybody else, you must call me, Stacie, all right?" insisted Rebecca as she waved goodbye at the front door.

"Will do! Take care, Rebecca," replied Stacie as she climbed into Ash's car.

Both puffed sighs of relief as they drove round the corner and out of sight of the Ferris home.

"Whew, that was a bit close for comfort," said Ash. "I thought she was going to get on the blower to mum and then we would've been well and truly rumbled."

"Totally!" agreed Stacie. "Rebecca's the only one in her family who's moved away from the east end, and as you can see she didn't get _that_ far, so anything she says to her mum could well find its way to the ears of someone we don't want to get involved."

"Right, I think that's enough for today," Ash declared, pulling in to the side of the road. "You tell me where your place is and I'll take you there."

Stacie looked decidedly injured. "I thought I'd be staying with you at the cottage..."

oooOOOooo

After having dropped a reluctant Stacie back at her south London flat, Ash returned to the Reigate cottage to an enthusiastic welcome from Moss. He was determined not to stuff things up with an almighty mistake; he and Stacie hadn't seen each other for over a year, and a lot had happened in their lives since then. So he preferred to wait and see where things went, rather than adopt Stacie's tactic of jumping in with both feet.

He spent what was left of the evening re-reading his notes about the court case, and drew up a list of things he wanted to do in the next few days:

Find out more about Charlie Stanmore and his business dealings

Speak to Brendan Lawrence

Check out Frank Munro's former work colleagues

Take Stacie for a meal.

It was the last item on the list that preoccupied his thoughts as he finished the day. He Googled some good London restaurants, checking the reviews and ratings (price was no object; Stacie was worth every penny and more), and this prompted him to add one more thing to his to-do list:

Buy a new suit.

He hadn't thought to pack his, but it was time for a new one anyway. It would help him feel more confident, and it was important to him that he make an effort for Stacie. He suddenly wondered if eating out in town was such a good idea for two people who had probably conned more hospitality out of London than most folk. And then it hit him: the perfect idea for a lunch date. He quickly checked his bank account online and reassured himself that it was quite healthy, and well able to take a sizeable hit.


	4. Chapter 4

"First up, let's have a talk about Charlie Stanmore and your dad," Ash began. He had called to collect Stacie on their way to the east end, and suggested they discuss their plans for the day before they went anywhere.

"Well, I don't know much," she replied. "Charlie didn't want anything more to do with our family after the money went missing and Dad was arrested."

"Although, technically, your dad didn't touch the money – he notified his bank as soon as he realised there was something wrong, didn't he?"

"He'd been on holiday in Malta for a couple of weeks and it was only a day or so after he got home that he thought to check his bank balance – and here was this enormous sum of money sitting in his account. He had no idea where it had come from, and not being bothered with a home computer he didn't do online banking, so he couldn't get a detailed statement without contacting his branch personally."

"Which he eventually did?" asked Ash.

"Yes, and that was the point at which all the alarm bells started ringing with the bank people and they called in the police. Dad tried to explain that _he_ was the one who'd come in to point out the error, but the bank and the Met were having none of it, and before he knew it they'd charged him with embezzlement. The bank had easily traced the money transfer from Leytonstone Building, and as Dad was the accountant there, it was obvious to them – or so they thought – what had happened."

"Right. So we need to find out a bit of background on Stanmore: what companies he runs, his business partners, if he and Liza are still together. And do you know if any of the people Rebecca talked about are still working for him?"

Stacie's brow furrowed. "Not sure about that. Mum might know." Seeing the surprise on Ash's face, she explained, "She's aware I'm trying to clear Dad's name. I had to tell her, Ash, and be sure she understood that I'm not going to implicate her in any way. She knows you're working with me on it, and that we're looking for a third party to incriminate."

Ash tutted slightly. "It would've been better if she'd stayed in the dark on that, Stace. The less she knows, the more chance we have of succeeding. She stitched your dad up, so that tells me something about her: she doesn't have much in the way of boundaries."

Unable to argue that point, Stacie reassured him, "She also knows it's in her best interest to keep quiet, Ash; if the truth _did_ get out she'd be the one doing the five-stretch."

"Okay. Well, you visit your mum and without giving anything else away, find out from her about the Stanmores, what they're currently up to, and what she knows about the people your dad used to work with. I'll check out this Brendan Lawrence guy at the _East London Gazette_; he seems to know quite a lot about the case."

"Right. And then lunch?"

"Sure. I'll text you when I'm finished and pick you up from your mum's."

Ash omitted to tell Stacie, as he left her at her mother's house, that his first port of call was to be a gent's outfitters. There, he chose the best suit he could find in his size and preferred style, paid for it and deposited it in the boot of his BMW X3. He then retraced his journey to the east end, finally parking outside the_ Gazette_ office. Inside, he turned on the charm.

"Good morning, miss. I'd like to speak with Mr. Brendan Lawrence, if I may."

"Can I ask who's calling, please?" replied the receptionist.

Ash had already decided he didn't want to use his real name, but he had been waiting to see how the land lay before deciding what persona to adopt. A fellow journalist felt too risky – Ash didn't know enough about the field to hold his own in conversation with the genuine article. Possibly he would present himself as a private investigator, or even just a concerned citizen. That last one might be the bait the journalist needed if he thought he smelled a good human interest story.

"My name is Steven Hughes."

"And it's in connection with...?"

"I'm interested in talking to him about a story he did last year."

Still a little unconvinced, the woman picked up her phone and punched in an internal number. "Brendan? There's a gentleman here to see you, a Mr. Steven Hughes, about a piece you did last year...yes, I'll tell him." She hung up and said to Ash, "He'll be out to see you in a minute, if you'd like to take a seat." She indicated the couch behind him, but Ash had barely had time to turn round when a thirtysomething man, wearing a down-at-heel, rather wrinkled suit, appeared in reception and extended his hand.

"Brendan Lawrence, Mr. Hughes. How can I help you?"

Ash's instinct kicked in and he could sense how to play this almost at once. "Well, actually...it's a bit delicate. Is there somewhere we could talk more confidentially?"

The journalist's curiosity was aroused at once. "Of course, of course! Come to my office."

The first hurdle. Ash mentally punched the air as he followed Lawrence along a narrow corridor, one side of which was a long glass window overlooking the river. The other side was lined with doors, and finally Lawrence opened one of these and showed Ash into his office.

"Take a seat. Would you like some tea, coffee?"

"Tea, please, that's very kind of you. Milk, no sugar, thanks." The drinks provided, Lawrence settled down in a chair opposite Ash to hear more.

"Now, how can I help you?"

"A friend of mine – a close friend – has a relative who's ended up in jail for something he claims he didn't do." He stopped, took a sip of his tea, waited for the tension to build. He wasn't disappointed.

"And what was this relative's name?" asked Lawrence, unable to contain his eagerness to know.

"Frank Monroe."

"Ahhhh, yes, the embezzlement case! I remember it well. I was in court every day for that trial, and it's not often you can say that about a case. It didn't drag on too long, it was pretty much a slam dunk, as they say. Monroe had worked for a local building company, and their money suddenly showed up in his personal bank account. He didn't even have the _nous_ to set one up in a fake name." Lawrence shook his head in amused disbelief at the recollection, then continued, "So your friend...he maintains that Monroe is innocent?"

"Yes...she does," replied Ash, knowing that Stacie would have no qualms about playing the lure again if it meant freeing her father. "She believes he was set up, framed by someone who wanted to get even. Whether that's true or not...," he ended with a shrug.

Lawrence was quiet for a few moments, then got up, walked to his filing cabinet, and pulled out a sizeable folder of documents.

"As you can see," he said, placing the pile of papers on his desk, "I've gathered a fair bit of information about Mr. Frank Monroe. Have you ever met him?"

"Once or twice," answered Ash truthfully. If Lawrence had known the circumstances under which the most recent meeting had taken place, he might have been harder to suck in. As it was, however, the journalist was enjoying showing off how much knowledge he had acquired about the case.

"Cocky little sod, isn't he?" Lawrence handed Ash a photograph, obviously taken by one of his colleagues, of Frank arriving at court with his brief, and giving the photographer the benefit of some explicit hand gestures. "Sometimes, you know someone's a villain just by looking at them."

"I'm assuming the CPS had a bit more than that to present to the jury," said Ash drily.

Lawrence gave a little self-deprecating smile. "Indeed they had, fortunately. But can I just ask: what do you hope to achieve for your friend? A retrial? Is an appeal on the cards?" This sudden thought seemed to get his interest. "Now that would be a story! 'Crooked accountant claims innocence, seeks appeal'. Yes!"

Without appearing anxious to throw Lawrence off that particular scent, Ash used some artistic licence. "Well, the word I heard is that he didn't plan the theft alone. In fact, he knew nothing about it being carried out until he checked with his bank."

The journalist paused in his search for something in his desk drawers. "You're saying you suspect he had an accomplice? Now that's something that was never addressed at the trial. How interesting. What makes you say that?" Now Ash really had Lawrence's full attention. Time to start reeling him in.


	5. Chapter 5

Stacie was waiting outside her mother's apartment block when Ash drove up nearly fifteen minutes late for their lunch appointment. Her raised eyebrow told him she didn't appreciate having to hang about.

"Sorry, Stace," Ash called, leaning over to the open passenger window.

"Hmmmm," was the response. Getting in, Stacie added, "Mum had to go out. She stuck around as long as she could and then a bit longer...don't worry, it was only the dentist. But we're not on such brilliant terms yet that she left me to lock up." She sat looking out of the passenger window, deliberately avoiding eye contact, and they drove in somewhat strained silence for several minutes until eventually Ash said, "I'm really sorry if I made things difficult for you, Stace. The guy at the _Gazette_ wouldn't shut up, and I had to wait till he'd said his piece so I could leave without offending him and screwing things up there."

His genuine contrition mellowed Stacie's annoyance. "I knew there must be a reason," she replied, pacified by his explanation. "What does he know about Dad's case? Oh...!"

Her exclamation was the result of suddenly realising that Ash had just pulled up outside some kind of reception building. It didn't look to her like somewhere they would be able to have lunch.

"What's here?" she asked, puzzled, as Ash got out and opened the boot. He walked round to the passenger side, opened the door for Stacie, and extended a hand to help her out of the car.

"Our carriage awaits."

"What?"

"This way, please, sir," announced the attendant who had come to supervise the valet parking of Ash's car and show him and Stacie inside. Still bemused, she followed as the man led them into a very plush lounge. Ash slipped into the gents' bathroom and left Stacie to the chilled bubbly that he had arranged. She sat for a few minutes, still uncertain as to what was going on, and looked about her. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows she could see a helicopter that was obviously preparing for take-off.

The attendant saw her scanning the room, smiled and came forward.

"Can I get you something, madame?"

"Er...no, I don't think so..." Reluctant to reveal her ignorance of the situation, and spotting the man's name tag, she asked, "Where's that one going, Henry?" indicating the aircraft outside.

Henry smiled even more broadly. "Why, that is your flight, madame." His smile became a huge grin as he looked over Stacie's shoulder. "And here is your fellow passenger!"

Stacie whipped round to behold Ash resplendent in his new Armani suit and aviators. Her jaw dropped.

"Ready, Stace?" Ash asked, offering his arm. Unsteadily – perhaps because of the champagne – she rose to her feet, took his arm, and they followed Henry through to a check-in area. They were quickly cleared to board the helicopter, and as soon as the doors to the helipad were opened, the roar of the engine hit them, as well as the downdraught from the blades. Almost at a run, they crossed the apron and were helped into their seats by the co-pilot.

Once settled and airborne, and having spent the flight over southwest London competing to see who could spot the best landmarks, Stacie felt confident enough to shout to Ash, "Where are we going?"

With a grin nothing short of smug, Ash replied, "Wait and see," and the noise of the aircraft drowned out Stacie's strangled "Aargghh" of frustration. She hated not knowing what was happening, and had to force herself to relax and enjoy the journey. _A little mystery,_ she told herself, _is fun and exciting_. _And Ash is here, so everything will be fine_. However, it wasn't long before she realised the helicopter was getting ready to land. Looking out of her window, the sea was clearly visible, and as they descended she could read the sign at the terminal building: "Penzance Heliport".

"Penzance!" she yelled at Ash, delighted and amazed.

He nodded, pleased at her happiness, and soon they were being escorted through the arrivals area and out to a waiting car and driver.

"Are you hungry?" Ash asked Stacie as they sat close together in the back seat.

"Ravenous, after that flight! Why, have you made a reservation?" she asked jokingly.

"Well, you don't think I'd bring you all this bloomin' way without one, do you?" was his retort. "Lunch for two at the Sail Loft restaurant."

"Oh, that sounds fabulous! I love the seaside. Is it far?"

"Just a little further," Ash reassured her. Moments later they pulled in at a small harbour. "Well, we've flown, we've gone by road, so only one means of transport left to try now..." he said as they stepped out of the car.

A cabin cruiser was chugging at the quayside. "Boat?" asked Stacie, incredulously.

"Boat!" declared Ash, as he helped her up the gangway. The launch made its way out of the harbour, and fortunately the sea was flat calm. It was only when they had rounded a corner that Stacie could see where they were headed. She gasped in awe.

"Ash! It's...it's fantastic! What...where are we?"

"This is St. Michael's Mount. France has Mont St. Michel, Cornwall has this. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Absolutely..." Words finally failed her, and as they drew alongside the jetty she was still at a loss. They walked up the steep path to the castle that crowned the tiny island, pausing now and again to enjoy the views. About halfway up, Stacie reached out and gave Ash a squeeze on the shoulder.

"Thanks for this," she said, as he turned to look at her.

"My pleasure," he smiled, and squeezed her hand in return. "I thought we could both do with a change of scenery."

"Well, when you do something, you really do it properly!" Stacie declared. "Most men would just book a table somewhere in the city and order a taxi."

Ash decided it was time to confess his motivation – part of it, at least. "I thought it would be better to eat someplace where we'd actually be welcome," he said with a grin.

"Ahhh, self-preservation! I see," winked Stacie, knowingly.

"Partly. Also..." Ash looked down and kicked at the edge of the path, "I wanted to spend some time with you away from 'normality', help take your mind off things. It'll do us both good to blow away the cobwebs." They stood together and looked out over the sea. Stacie slid her arm round Ash's waist and rested her head on his shoulder, and he could smell the warm sweetness of her hair.

Lunch was a leisurely and Mediterranean affair, served on the sun terrace of the castle's restaurant on the hottest day of the year so far. Ash reflected to himself that he couldn't have picked a better day if he'd tried. Stacie had excused herself for a few minutes, and he took the opportunity for a quick check of his messages. To his surprise and consternation, there was an e-mail from Brendan Lawrence, with the subject heading "Further details on F. Monroe". A brief glance at the message told Ash that another meeting with the journalist would be necessary, sooner rather than later.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket as he spotted Stacie returning from the ladies' room, and managed to plaster on a smile to cover his concern.

"Dessert?" he asked as she resumed her seat.

"Ooohhh, yes – something with lots of ice cream in it, I think!" replied Stacie, eagerly. They perused the menu and decided on a large sundae with everything.

"And two spoons, please," added Ash as the waitress took their order.

Stacie's eyes widened slightly. "Is that a challenge, Mr. Morgan? Whoever eats fastest gets the most? You are _on_."

It was another contest as to who felt worse off afterwards, as both had attacked the super-size knickerbocker glory with equal gusto. However, there was the matter of the walk back down to the harbour to face, as they needed to catch the boat back in time for their return flight.

Ash paid the bill and they set off on the downward path, compelled to trot due to the steepness of the slope. Stacie especially was struggling as her heels, although not extreme, were giving her problems. Eventually she removed her shoes and walked on the softer surface of the grass verge. Ash was most solicitous that she not fall or hurt her feet, so despite gravity they took it more slowly and arrived at the jetty to find the boatman pointedly checking his watch.

"Sorry about that!" apologised Ash as he helped Stacie on board. The launch immediately left the harbour and made the short crossing in what must have been record time. Their chauffeur was also waiting, with a bit more patience, and made sure his passengers were settled comfortably before speeding off to the heliport.

"You know, Ash, I don't think I will ever forget today," said Stacie, her eyes shining, as the helicopter took off. "It's definitely the most amazing lunch date I've ever had, bar none. Thank you so much."

"It's been the best day of my life," replied Ash, and, emboldened by the confidence of success, he seized the opportunity, and Stacie, with both hands and kissed her with all the passion he had ever felt for her.


	6. Chapter 6

Ash was up and doing early next morning, puttering around the cottage and half-expecting at any minute to realise that the previous day had been nothing but an incredible dream. After all, he had had a number of similar dreams during the last few years...however, he was most relieved when no such realisation burst upon him. He had called and arranged a second meeting with Brendan Lawrence, and now he headed for Walthamstow.

A couple of near misses on the M25 brought him back to reality. He pulled in at the next services, perspiring slightly after a close call with an enormous truck, and went for a coffee and a brisk walk to try and clear his head. He and Stacie might not be working on the same crew any more, but getting together with her could still cause problems if he started to lose his focus. He told himself sternly that Stacie wouldn't be as thrilled as she had been yesterday if he couldn't pull it together and help her dad.

Chucking the dregs of his coffee into the bushes, he got back in the car and set off again. Lawrence was expecting him at ten-thirty, and he didn't want to be late. "Come on, Ash – snap out of it!" he silently admonished as he drove up through Kent.

He was managing to make good time and was just over the Dartford Crossing when his mobile rang on the dashboard. It was Stacie. Gathering his courage, he pressed the button and said cheerfully, "Morning, Stace! How's things?"

"We have a problem, Ash," came her solemn reply, sending his heart plummeting to the floor.

Remaining calm and reasonable, at least outwardly, he asked, "What's up?"

"I'm sitting in an internet café directly across from the East London Gazette offices, and I've just seen Charlie Stanmore meeting someone outside...youngish bloke, suit looks like..."

"...it's bin slept in," Ash finished for her. "Yep, that's Lawrence. So why would Stanmore be talking to him?"

"Well, they recognised each other straight away, so I'm assuming they've met before. They didn't go into the building, just walked around for a bit and then they shook hands again, Stanmore got in his car and left, and Lawrence went back inside. Obviously they didn't want you turning up and spotting them in cahoots."

"Think you've hit the nail on the head there, Stace. Cahoots is definitely the word for what's going on. Well, should I keep my appointment with Lawrence, d'you think?"

"You absolutely should!" Stacie was getting really fired up now. "And you've got the advantage of knowing about their relationship, whereas _he_ thinks he's playing _you_."

"I'm not far away now, so let me know if you see anything else dodgy, all right?" said Ash.

"OK, will do. And Ash?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks again for yesterday. It was the best."

A huge grin threatened to pop Ash's cheeks. "I had a great time too. Let's do it again soon." He was rewarded with a chuckle from Stacie before she hung up.

Another fifteen minutes, and Ash had arrived at his destination, according to the satnav. He spoke to the receptionist, and this time had to hang about while she first of all tracked Lawrence down, then informed him that "Mr. Hughes" was there. More waiting ensued, and Ash started to get the distinct feeling that Lawrence was hoping he would get fed up and leave. After he had been there for almost half an hour, the receptionist answered a call and immediately it became obvious, from her stage whisper, that she was trying not to let Ash hear her side of the conversation.

"Yes, he is...well, yes...no, I don't think so...definitely...oh...all right." She hung up and called to Ash. "Mr Hughes?"

Ash stood up expectantly. "Yes?"

"I'm afraid Mr. Lawrence has been detained on an international conference call. He's asked me to fix another appointment for you for next week."

"Oh, I see." Ash managed to convey surprise, disappointment (quite literally) and disapproval in his tone.

"And he asked me to pass on his apologies to you."

Ash was fairly sure Lawrence had done no such thing, and he hated to put the woman on the spot, but he didn't feel it would be realistic to just grin and bear such discourteous treatment, so he replied, "I do wish he had let me know before I travelled up from Surrey. Most inconvenient."

"Oh, what a shame! I _am_ sorry. What day next week would suit you?"

"I should think Monday, 9am," Ash retorted, as if this was the least Lawrence could do after mucking him about.

"Ahhh...he's actually not in the office on Mondays...how about Wednesday?"

"What happened to Tuesday?" demanded Ash, genuinely incredulous.

"I'm afraid he's got meetings all that day. 2pm on Wednesday is the first appointment I can give you." She simpered and put Ash's blood pressure up a couple of notches.

"That'll have to do, then." Ash had no intention of waiting that long to see his quarry, however. He left the building and returned to his car, where he took off his jacket and tie, donned his sunglasses and picked up a newspaper. He then positioned himself by a tree down the street where he could watch both the _Gazette_ front door and the fire exit nearest Lawrence's office. Sure enough, a few minutes later the journalist peeked round the fire door, checking to see if the coast was clear.

Ash had noticed a CCTV camera in the reception area, and had been pretty certain that Lawrence would have watched him remotely as he waited in vain – hence his slight change of appearance. Lawrence would be looking for a suit.

It worked like a charm. He passed within inches of the waiting Ash.

"Mr. Lawrence," began Ash conversationally, folding up the _Guardian_.

Lawrence jumped back, startled. "What?!"

Ash removed his glasses and smiled like a Cheshire cat. "I want a word with you," he growled, and taking the man by the arm, steered him in the direction of the internet café.

"This is abduction!" protested Lawrence as they crossed the street together.

"No, this is you inviting me for coffee – you know, to apologise for standing me up," corrected Ash in a menacing voice. "In!"

He propelled the reluctant Lawrence towards a quiet corner table, near enough to Stacie that she would be able to eavesdrop but not so close as to arouse the journalist's suspicion.

Sitting down facing Lawrence, Ash said quietly but forcefully, "Now, I want you to explain to me why you suddenly decided not to keep our appointment today. Two coffees, please," he briskly asked the young waitress, then glared once more at the cowering Lawrence. "So?" he demanded.

Lawrence was obviously trying to formulate a story rather than tell the truth. Ash decided to wait and see what he came up with, partly for entertainment's sake.

"Well...as my receptionist explained to you, I had an international conference call scheduled. Unfortunately, the satellite link went down at the start and it had to be postponed until another date."

"Much like my appointment – but now, here we are, luckily for you. I came to see you in response to your message saying that we ought to meet again. What further information about Frank Monroe do you have for me?"

"Yes...well...I'm afraid I made a mistake about that."

Ash's right eyebrow arched in disbelief.

"What I mean is," Lawrence continued hastily, "that I forgot that we had discussed quite a lot of the case, and this morning I realised that we would simply be going over old ground. I'm very sorry to have inconvenienced you."

"Cobblers," said Ash in his natural blunt fashion. "You were going to share something new with me, and then something or someone changed your mind."

There was a momentary pause in their conversation as the waitress delivered their coffee. Ash thanked her, and continued to sit and stare at Lawrence, waiting for his guilty conscience to provoke an outburst. He didn't have long to wait.

"Look, this is all terribly difficult for me. I've been privy to very sensitive information which, if it fell into the wrong hands, could cause me a lot of trouble."

"Information about Frank Monroe?"

Lawrence shifted uncomfortably, fiddled with his teaspoon, and looked as if he would rather be undergoing excruciating dental work than having this conversation.

With a weary sigh, Ash, realising he was going to get nowhere fast using this tack, decided to be more proactive.

"Earlier today you met with a man who has appears to have a vested interest in what happens to Frank Monroe. Correct?"

Lawrence's eyes grew wide. "How...how did you know that?"

"I'm not in this on my own," answered Ash, trying to make it sound as if it wasn't just him and Stacie. "My people are very good at finding things out." He leaned across the table at the journalist with a friendly, freeze-you-to-death-if-you-don't-cooperate smile. "You could be one of my people. It'd be much safer for you in the long run, I'd say." He sipped his coffee, keeping his gaze on the man.

Shaking his head vigorously, Lawrence replied in a fear-stricken voice, "You don't know what you're asking. There are some very unpleasant individuals involved in this."

"Tell me about it," replied Ash, and then when no answer was forthcoming, elaborated, "I wasn't being rhetorical. Tell me about it!"

"I _can't_," said Lawrence, in deep desperation. "You've no idea what would happen to me if they thought I'd spoken to you again. It was under strict instructions that I had to cancel our meeting today."

"All right, I'll do a deal with you. If I can tell you the name of the man you met today, you'll tell me what his involvement is with Frank Monroe's fit-up." Ash was 99.9% certain he heard Stacie give a barely-suppressed gasp at this, although Lawrence seemed quite oblivious to her presence.

The journalist narrowed his eyes as he looked at Ash, suspecting he himself was being made the subject of a fit-up, but not sure exactly how. Nevertheless, he seemed to believe that he and Stanmore had been careful enough that they couldn't possibly be implicated. "Go on, then," he challenged.

"His name is Charlie Stanmore," said Ash conversationally, stirring his coffee as if this would somehow warm it up again. He ignored the total horror on Lawrence's face and went on, "He was Frank Monroe's boss at Leytonstone Building and for some reason he is perfectly happy to see his former employee go to prison for something he knows he didn't do. Am I right so far?"

Unable to do anything else, Lawrence gave a shellshocked nod.

Ash sat back and exhaled quietly. He could almost _feel_ the waves of excitement emanating from the booth Stacie occupied. Now it seemed like they might actually get at the truth about what had happened to her father, and not need to shift the blame by sleight of hand to have him freed. Ash was beginning to suspect that although Stacie's mother had been behind the embezzlement, perhaps someone else had put her up to it.

Lawrence looked nervously at his watch. "I have to be somewhere very soon. Listen, I don't think it's a good idea for us to be seen together. Word might get about that you're looking into Monroe's conviction and...well, let's just say that we both might come to regret having been involved."

Ash pushed a piece of paper across the table. "That's my mobile number. Call me within 48 hours and we'll arrange somewhere well away from here where we can talk at length without being disturbed." He leaned towards Lawrence once more and said with unmistakable menace, "If I don't hear from you by then, I'll come looking for you, and I don't care where you are, _I will find you_. Got that?" Before Lawrence could answer, Ash stood up and strode out of the café without a backward glance.

Shakily, Lawrence rose to his feet, left some coins on the table to pay for the coffee, and made his way to the door. He looked around to check if anyone was watching him as he crossed the street and returned to the _Gazette _building.

Stacie pulled out her phone and called Ash. "I'll get you round the corner in a few minutes," she said, then hung up. She settled her bill and walked quickly to meet Ash.

oooOOOooo

They had been driving for about ten minutes before either of them spoke.

"Stace, I think you're going to have to speak to your mum again."

"I think I am. Was I imagining it, or did it seem as if someone else was behind her, pulling the strings?"

Ash nodded. "I got that impression as well. Stanmore obviously has some kind of hold on Lawrence. I wonder if he's got something on your mum? Or is he just so persuasive that she would fit your dad up on his say-so?"

Sighing, Stacie shook her head. "Two years ago, I'd have punched you in the face for even suggesting such a thing. But since I discovered what she did to Dad, I could believe anything of her." Stacie paused, looked down at the floor for a few moments, then said, "I've decided she's not a very nice person, Ash. She makes me wish you really _could_ choose your family and not just your friends; I'd never have chosen her as she is now. And the awful thing is, I don't know if she's always been like this and I just didn't realise it. It makes me wonder how well I've ever known her." She turned away to try and hide the tears that were threatening to form.

Seeing Stacie's eyes well up caused a knot to form in Ash's stomach. He had always been intensely protective of her, and that feeling had only doubled in recent days. He reached across and squeezed her hand. "Come on, let's get you home."

Stacie looked pleadingly, almost desperately, at him. "Please don't leave me, Ash. Please."

"I won't. Don't worry, I'll stay with you for as long as you need me."


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh, easy, Moss, easy!" Ash fended off his loyal friend's ecstatic welcome home and headed inside to the kitchen, where Moss was torn between joy at his master's return and the anticipation of some food. Whining excitedly and racing back and forth between his bowl and Ash, he finally settled down to his dinner, but still kept a wary eye open in case he should be left alone again.

Ash had stayed with Stacie until she had fallen asleep, emotionally exhausted, on her sofa. He had covered her gently with a blanket and left her a note promising that he would be back later. Now he sat on his own couch and wondered where on earth this was all taking them – both the investigation into Frank's case, and the relationship with Stacie. He left it as long as he in all conscience felt was right, having taken Moss for a good walk, then got in the car and drove over to her flat.

Just as they arrived, a neighbour was making her way out, and she kindly held the door to the apartment block open for Ash. When he reached Stacie's second-floor flat, the hair on the back of his neck started to prickle. The door was very slightly ajar, moving to and fro in the wind. Ash looked down at Moss, who had stopped clowning around and was standing very still, staring fixedly ahead. Ash gripped him by the collar and, pushing the door, entered the apartment as quietly as he could. They checked each room as they progressed along the hallway. Stacie was nowhere to be seen.

The condition of the living room confirmed Ash's worst fears. A lamp and several plants were lying smashed on the floor. Much of the furniture was askew or out of place. Ash stood helplessly in the middle of the room, his heart racing as if he had run the 100m and beaten Usain Bolt into second place.

"It's no good, Moss, I'm gonna have to call the police." Something in Ash's instincts told him that the officer who had dealt with Frank's case was the person to speak to. He now knew that the police had been just as hoodwinked as everyone else by Charlie Stanmore and Janice Monroe, and that Inspector Clark would be easier to convince that there was a connection between his own enquiries and Stacie's disappearance.

He was able to get hold of Clark with surprising speed, and his succinct account of the facts produced an instant response. "I'll be with you in fifteen minutes, Mr. Morgan. Please go outside and wait in your car, and don't touch anything in the flat."

In less than ten, several police cars with flashing lights had appeared, and Ash got out to meet them.

"Inspector Clark?" he said, as a forty-something, fair-haired uniformed officer approached the apartments.

The woman shook Ash's hand. "You must be Mr. Morgan. Which is Miss Monroe's flat?"

"Second floor, on the left. Apartment E. I'll show you..."

"If you wouldn't mind waiting here, sir, I'll get one of my officers to take your statement, and I'll send someone down for you if we need to ask anything about the flat. Thank you." Clark signalled to her team to go upstairs.

A uniformed sergeant stood at Ash's side. "Come and sit in our car, sir, and we'll take care of your statement," he invited. Noting Moss's excitable presence in the BMW, he asked, "Will your dog be all right?"

"He's fine. I've left the window down a bit for him," replied Ash as he followed the officer to a patrol car.

The next hour passed in what seemed like slow motion. After Ash had given his statement, he was escorted back up to Stacie's apartment and shown through to the living room, where Inspector Clark asked him to look about and see if he thought anything was missing. He had to be honest and say he'd only been there twice and hadn't really paid attention to the fixtures and fittings. Then something occurred to him.

"You know, she was having a rest on the sofa here," Ash told Clark, "and she had a blanket over her...but I don't see it anywhere." He turned to look round the room. "Nope. It's gone. It was a Burberry pattern," he added, in anticipation of the inspector's next question.

"Good, thank you for that." She nodded at an officer who was taking notes from Stacie's address book, and who proceeded to broadcast the information about the blanket via her two-way set. "Anything else strike you as different, or unusual for Miss Monroe?"

Ash thought as he cast about for something. "You are checking up on Charlie Stanmore, aren't you? He's got to be behind this."

Clark remained impassive but sympathetic. "We'll pursue every angle we deem appropriate, Mr. Morgan. If there's nothing more you can think of..."

"Her phone. If I give you her number, you can try and trace it, can't you, if it's been left switched on?"

"We can certainly try. Give Constable Roberts her number, and yours, as well as your address. And do you know who she banks with?"

Ash shook his head. "No, but I expect she'll have some statements filed away, she's very methodical when it comes to finances."

"Right, I'll have my people check it out, and see if her accounts have been accessed. I appreciate your help, Mr. Morgan, and I promise we will do everything we can to find Miss Monroe. Constable, can you show Mr. Morgan out, please?"

It irked Ash that he was so obviously surplus to requirements, used as he was to being in control of information-gathering. However, he was glad to get back outside and find Moss sleeping contentedly in the back seat of the car. After another brief happy reunion, they returned to the Reigate cottage where Ash spent an extraordinarily sleepless night. He either paced the floor, or searched the Internet for something, anything, that would further his understanding of Charlie Stanmore and his world.

At about 5.30am, when the sun was almost properly up, he took Moss for a walk, and was on his way back to the cottage when his phone rang. His initial response was that it must be a wrong number at that time of the morning, but he froze when he saw Stacie's caller ID. The thought that it might be Stacie herself to say she was safe and sound never crossed his mind.

He pressed the answer button and said, "Hello?" in as non-committal a tone as he could manage.

"Ash?" said a male voice.

"Yes," he replied.

"We have your friend Stacie." This was obviously meant to elicit some kind of response: shock, anger, fear.

"And?"

This was not the answer the caller had expected and Ash could tell he was momentarily thrown off balance.

"Uh...if you want to see her again, you will do exactly as I say."

"I'll be the judge of that," Ash replied. "First, I want to be sure that she's well, so I need to speak to her. Then we can discuss terms."

"Listen, pal, I'm in charge here..."

"I talk to her, or you go away empty-handed. Take it or leave it." Ash knew this wasn't Charlie Stanmore he was speaking to, it was a younger man's voice, so this had to be one of Stanmore's goons. There was a heavy silence, and then he heard Stacie.

"Ash? Are you OK?" Trust Stacie! She was the one who'd been abducted, and here she was concerned for him.

"I'm fine, Stace. Have those bastards hurt you?"

"No, but I'm really scared, Ash. Help me..."

The phone was snatched away from her and Ash closed his eyes as if in an attempt to block out the pain of hearing her distress.

The man spoke again, harshly. "That's enough. Satisfied?"

"So what now?" Ash was determined to give no quarter, to make this thug work for his pay.

"You...you bring all the paperwork you have on Frank Monroe – photos, tapes too if you have them – to a meeting place later today. The address and time will be texted to you. And I don't need to tell you that if you involve the police, you won't see Miss Monroe again."

"And then I'll take everything I have to the police and you'll be back at square one, plus a kidnapping charge hanging over you. What would be the point of that?"

"Just bring the stuff!" raged the erstwhile abductor in Ash's ear, and hung up.

Ash jogged back to the cottage and sat down heavily in front of his computer, head in hands. Two paws were placed on his lap as Moss tried to comfort him, and he patted the dog absent-mindedly. What to do next? As Ash recovered from the shock of the phone call, something dawned on him. What had the bloke said? "...if you involve the police..." So he didn't know that the police were already involved. Stanmore must be running a fairly low-tech operation here; apparently nobody had been watching Stacie's place after they'd taken her, so there was little chance of any electronic surveillance such as phone hacking. That was a plus.

Ash looked at the time; it was almost 7 a.m. He had to let Inspector Clark know about the kidnappers' demands, and so rang her number.

"I'll come to you," the inspector assured Ash. "We can't assume they won't follow you, so if you came here...I'll be with you in half an hour, and I promise nobody will know who I am."

Clark was as good as her word when, a short time later, she turned up at Whetstone Cottage in a blue van, dressed as a gas engineer. Ash gave a wry smile as he saw the uniform, given the number of times he had used exactly that disguise on a con. He showed her through to the living room and she unpacked her toolbox, revealing a gadget that Ash recognised as a digital recorder, which she hooked up to his mobile.

She then used her own phone to call someone. "Jez, can you make sure Mr. Morgan's mobile provider have a track on any incoming calls he receives, please? Thank you. Have you had any luck tracing Miss Monroe's phone? Right...OK, bye." She turned to a hopeful-looking Ash. "Unfortunately, the person who called you from Miss Monroe's phone knew enough to keep the phone active only for a short time, and he appears to have switched it on long enough to talk to you, and then switched it off again."

"Where was he calling from?"

"Waterloo Station. So even if we looked at CCTV footage, it would be well-nigh impossible to identify the caller; it's a very busy area."

Ash nodded in agreement. "I'm happy to meet whoever this is and hand over what they want. It's no big deal, we don't really have that much information to give, and anything incriminating we've learned about Charlie Stanmore is purely hearsay. In fact," he went on as the thought occurred to him, "it might be an idea if you check the whereabouts and good health of Brendan Lawrence, a journalist at the East London Gazette – he's the one who led us to Stanmore, and he seems to have been under pressure to try and make Frank Monroe's appeal go away."

Clark raised an eyebrow at this. "You haven't seen the news this morning, I take it?" When Ash shook his head, she continued, "Brendan Lawrence was found beaten nearly to a pulp last night, near his home in Stratford. He's in intensive care with a 30-70 chance of survival."

Ash blew his cheeks out in despair and frustration. "Can't say I'm surprised. He was very reluctant to say anything about Stanmore and kept claiming that he would be in trouble if he did."

"Somebody is pretty anxious to keep the status quo on this case, it would seem," remarked the inspector. They both jumped as Ash's text alert sounded.

"It's from Stacie's number," he said, looking up at Clark. He opened the message and read aloud, "Be at the main pond on Wandsworth Common at 2.30pm today. Bring every piece of information you have relating to your recent enquiries."

"Well, that's not from the bloke I spoke to earlier," said Ash decidedly. "Too literate."

Inspector Clark had called her people the moment Ash had received the text, and they were busy trying to pinpoint the phone's location. She sighed as she ended her call.

"Waterloo again?" said Ash, more in desperation than in hope.

"Blackfriars this time," replied Clark. "We haven't a hope of finding them this way; in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they dispose of Miss Monroe's phone now that they've used it to make themselves known to you."

"So the only answer is for me to do as they say. But you have to catch them, inspector, or this could happen all over again. Stacie and her family won't be safe until Stanmore's out of the picture."

Clark thought for a moment, then said, "I visited her mother yesterday to tell her what had happened, and it was the most bizarre conversation I've ever had with the parent of someone who's been abducted. It was almost as if she didn't care. At first I thought it was shock, but she couldn't get rid of myself and my colleague fast enough. Obviously that made me quite suspicious, so I arranged for her phone to be monitored, and we've been hearing some rather interesting conversations. I'm afraid I can't tell you any more than that – I've probably said more than I should have already – but I believe we may have some good solid evidence to convict Mr. Stanmore."

While this was music to Ash's ears, he wasn't sure how Stacie would take the news that her mother was a person of interest in a police investigation. This was precisely what she had wanted to avoid. However, it was no longer something he had any control over, and he was surprised at the relief he now felt.

"Right, so I get everything I have relating to Frank Monroe's conviction and Charlie Stanmore, put it in an envelope or something...do you have any tracking devices I could use? I don't actually have any recordings of Lawrence or anything, but I could put a tape in if you need something to plant a tracker on."

"That sounds like a good idea, Mr. Morgan. Let me just have a look in this box of tricks that our surveillance team have put together..."

"I think that's one there," said Ash helpfully, pointing at a small black and silver square-shaped thing that looked like a plastic sticker.

Inspector Clark looked at him curiously. "I don't think I ever asked what you do for a living, Mr. Morgan. Are you in IT?"

"Retired," replied Ash economically. "May I?" He picked up the tracking device and examined it, then disappeared into another room. He returned in a few moments with a cassette tape, produced a pen and scribbled "Interview" on the tape label. He didn't want whoever got their hands on it to be too interested in it, lest they play it, realise it was useless, and bin it straight away. He then stuck the tracker on the casing, in a place where it blended in with the design of the cassette.

"Impressive," said Clark, unable to hide her admiration. "Might I suggest that rather than an envelope, you use some kind of plastic wallet? It would be less likely to rip and lose the tape." She rummaged once more in her kit and produced a blue zip folder, into which Ash placed his notes, the tape, and a few other documents to pad the package out and hopefully distract the kidnappers.

"That should do it," he said, and checked his watch. "We've got five hours." He looked expectantly at Clark.

"I plan to have plain clothes officers surrounding the drop location," she said. "Do you know the area at all?"

Ash turned to his laptop and found Google Maps. He typed in "Wandsworth Common" and clicked on the aerial view to see where the pond was located. "There's no vehicular access as far as I can tell," he said. "This stone bridge looks like a good place to try and draw them onto, then their escape route's limited."

"You'll pardon me if I'm wrong, but you sound as if you've done this kind of thing before." It was more of a question than a statement, but Ash refused to be drawn.

Instead, he asked, "How many people will you have on the ground?"

With a slight smile, Inspector Clark looked back at the computer screen and assessed the terrain. "Let me go and get that organised now," she said, and, having closed up her tool-kit, headed for the door. "I won't tell you how many officers there will be, or in what disguises – I don't want your body language giving any cues to the kidnappers. But be assured that I will put as many people as I have at my disposal on this, and you will be as safe there as you would be here. Remember, the kidnappers may well be watching you, following you to the meeting place to make sure you don't bring anyone with you. I'll call you again in an hour or so to confirm arrangements, and of course you'll let me know if you hear anything more from them?"

"Of course," agreed Ash. "And thank you." As he closed the door he felt a wave of nausea hit him, a combination of worry and a lack of sleep and food. He headed into the kitchen to get a quick bite to eat and then got his head down for forty winks before everything kicked off.


	8. Chapter 8

Having parked his car by a parade of shops beside Wandsworth Common, Ash clipped the lead onto Moss's collar and let him jump out of the back seat. He had deliberated whether to leave him at the cottage, but decided in the end to bring him, mainly because it helped everything to feel more normal: the drive up to London, the unfamiliar territory by the Common, the knowledge that Stacie's life was in danger. So here he was, a man with his dog, going for a walk in the park, with who knows how many plain clothes police officers watching him. He tried not to scrutinise everybody he passed, but it was difficult to do anything else. All credit to Inspector Clark's team, Ash couldn't spot a single soul who looked out of place or who showed any sign of recognising him.

He made his way casually towards the stone footbridge that crossed the large pond near the south-west corner of the Common, pausing occasionally to chuck a stick for Moss to go haring after in a blur of black and white. A quick check of his watch showed him that it was 2:29. Time to take up his position. He whistled, Moss followed, and Ash strode up to the centre point on the bridge, then turned to lean on the parapet facing back the way he'd come.

A slight growl from Moss made him look down to his right, and then behind him at a man who had stopped to check a message on his phone. Ash looked away again, and the man said, "Got the documents?"

Turning round, Ash retorted, "You get them when I see Stacie alive and well and walking towards me."

Through a coarse laugh, the thuggish-looking man scoffed, "Yeah, right," and continued to stare expectantly at Ash.

"I'm not joking," said Ash, deadpan. "Bring her here now."

With a frown and a muttered curse, the phone was produced again and this time used to speak to someone. "He wants to see her...yeah, well, like you said...no, I haven't seen them...will do." To Ash, "Right, you have to show me you've got the stuff as agreed before you see her."

Realising he had pushed that tactic as far as was prudent, Ash drew the document wallet from underneath his leather jacket and then held it out over the edge of the bridge, as if to let it drop into the pond. The man darted forward but the warning expression on Ash's face made him stop.

"Any closer and this lot goes in the water, and you won't have anything to bring to your boss. Can't think he'd be too pleased about that."

Uncertainty clouded the messenger's face, and Ash saw he was in with a chance.

"If you've got Stacie with you, you hand her over to me, then you can have this." A nod of his head indicated the package dangling precariously above the water.

Uttering an angry grunt, the thug once more spoke into his phone. By the change in his tone of voice, Ash could tell that he was speaking to a different person this time, instructing whoever it was to "bring her up to the edge of the bridge, and no nearer". Within a few minutes, he could see a couple approaching: a tall burly man with a shaved head, his arm firmly around his slim, dark-haired female companion. The familiar knot returned to Ash's gut and he restrained himself from knocking the man beside him over the parapet and running to get Stacie.

Thug 2 stopped at the end of the bridge and waited. Ash drew the package under his arm and walked towards them. "You all right, Stace?" he asked, granite-jawed.

"I'll be a hell of a lot better once I'm away from these morons," came her cool reply. _No, don't antagonise them!_ thought Ash, although he was deeply impressed with her nerve. He held out both his hands, one with the package in it, the other for Stacie. Her captor let her go and she ran forward, and from behind Ash, the first man snatched the wallet.

"Hold on!" he barked, unzipping the packet and looking inside. Everything seemed to be as he expected, although how he could have known with such a cursory inspection was unclear. "Right," he ordered, "just stay there. You'll get a text when it's safe to move."

"And if we leave before then?" enquired Ash, his arm now protectively around Stacie.

This question seemed to stump both Thugs. "Er...just wait!" said the first one angrily, and they began to walk away from the bridge at a brisk pace.

"So I suppose we'll just stand here, then," Stacie remarked.

Her abductors were out of sight among the trees and Ash put his other arm around her. "Stay cool," he said quietly. "Was there anyone else with you?"

"No, just The Chuckle Brothers. I swear, it was like watching an idiot comedy duo: 'You fix it!' 'No, you!' 'I said it first!' Geez!"

Ash couldn't help but laugh, and Stacie began to smile. Ash's phone buzzed in his pocket and he answered it. "Yes, inspector..." Stacie's face was a picture of amazement at this. "That's right, heading north. No, she's absolutely fine. Sure. Will do." He hung up. "Now, before you ask, it was me who involved the police, so any flak, I'll take it. We need to stop by your local nick and give our statements – you're officially a kidnap victim, you know."

oooOOOooo

Ash propped his feet up on the coffee table and pointed the remote control at the TV. "Just in time," he said with satisfaction, and Moss leapt up to join him on the sofa.

The newsreader had got through the headlines and was now concentrating on the big story of the evening.

"Police in London have confirmed that they are holding three men on charges of kidnapping, conspiracy to kidnap, and perverting the course of justice. Earlier today, a major police operation saw the safe return of a woman who had been abducted 24 hours earlier from her Surrey home. Charles Stanmore, who owns a building company in the east end of London, was arrested, along with two accomplices, for kidnapping the daughter of a former employee who police now believe was framed by Stanmore for embezzlement.

"Frank Monroe, seen here arriving at court last year for sentencing, is currently serving five years in prison after £850,000 from Stanmore's company was transferred to his personal bank account. Monroe, who was a financial adviser at Leytonstone Building, has always maintained his innocence and the Crown prosecution service has this afternoon issued a statement saying that they will be re-examining his case."

There followed five minutes of speculation about the undisclosed aspects of Stacie's abduction, most of which was utter tosh as far as Ash could tell. "What they don't know, they make up, eh, boy?" he said, patting Moss companionably. "I'll give Stace a ring in a bit, see how she's doing."

Stacie, however, beat him to the punch and called a few moments later.

"I've just got back from the police station!" she gasped, sounding exhausted. "I'm going to order some takeaway – want to come over and have some?" Ash agreed, and they debated over whether they should get Indian or pizza. "Oh, wait, I'll need to ring you back, Ash; someone else is trying to call me."

Ash had decided on a vindaloo and was awaiting Stacie's call to find out if he could pick up their food on the way over. However, forty minutes later he still hadn't heard back from her, so he dialled her number, which turned out to be engaged. This continued for another half hour, when she finally phoned, profoundly apologetic.

"Ash, I'm _so_ sorry! It was my mum...and we had...well, let's just say she's not being terribly supportive at the moment. I think she's feeling the heat a bit, with Dad about to be in the clear. Plus she dropped a couple of hints that her fitting Dad up was Stanmore's idea, like we'd figured – and get this: she was having an affair with him! _That's_ why he wanted Dad out of the way. But then when Dad went to prison Mum realised she couldn't be in a relationship with someone who'd set his up friend so he could have his wife. I spent most of the conversation assuring her that I hadn't even mentioned her name to the police, except as my next of kin. But I don't think she believed me."

"She's probably still freaked out about your kidnapping," soothed Ash. "I bet she'll calm down when you've had a chance to spend some time with her, and explain everything in person." He reckoned that Janice Monroe needed to answer for what she'd done to Frank, but he kept that idea to himself.

"I hope so," said Stacie. "Well, let's forget all that now – what about our takeaway?"

oooOOOooo

Charging around on the hill overlooking the farm, Moss was following his usual pattern of running wide circles around Ash as he walked up towards the cluster of trees at the top of the rise. The wind blew first in one direction, then the other, meaning that it was almost a minute before Ash could hear the sound of a car horn far below. He turned and saw a dark blue Ford Mondeo. With a shrill call to Moss, he started back down to the house and found himself being greeted by Marion Clark; not, he noted, in her uniform.

"Inspector! This is quite a surprise. Come inside," he invited, as Clark patted Moss's enquiring nose.

"I wanted to pay you a visit and make sure everything was in order," explained the policewoman as she settled into the armchair opposite Ash's.

He looked stunned. "You did a hundred-and-twenty mile drive just to find out if I was all right? I hope you're claiming travelling expenses," he said, half-jokingly.

Clark laughed and went on, "Miss Monroe has assured me that things have settled down for her now that her father is at liberty once more. I simply wanted to tie up all the loose ends."

"Not the first time I've been described as a loose end," replied Ash, "and not the worst thing I've ever been called. But Stacie's been enjoying having her dad around again. Can't say the same for her mum, mind you." He took a sip of his tea and looked over at the inspector.

"It's ironic, isn't it," she said, "that while Charlie Stanmore had Brendan Lawrence half-killed and Stacie abducted in order to cover up his framing Frank Monroe, those things actually had the opposite effect: to expose what he'd done, and set Monroe free."

_Not the way I'd have planned for it to happen, _thought Ash_, but who am I to argue with fate?_ Things had turned out more or less the way Stacie had wanted them to, although she too realised that it had, in the end, been out of their hands. And her mum might still be facing charges, along with Stanmore, for setting up Frank.

"I also wanted to bring you something..." Inspector Clark leaned down to the large handbag on the floor beside her and drew out a manila folder, stuffed with papers. "You may not be aware that for much of my police career I worked at Scotland Yard. It's only in the last two years that I've been back on the ground at a local station, and I must say it's been an enjoyable experience. However, I digress...this" - she placed a palm on the folder sitting on her knee - "is your police file."

Ash's eyes widened in surprise and the inspector smiled at his reaction.

"Initially I didn't recognise you, or Miss Monroe, but it was after the Stanmore business was all over that I realised that the names Morgan and Monroe together rang a bell with me. So I found a reason to visit old colleagues at the Yard, and was able to do a bit of digging in the archives, which is where I found your file – and of course, Stacie is mentioned here too, as are the names of several well-known confidence tricksters. Your skill and familiarity with surveillance equipment and techniques had intrigued me, so when I read here of your...shall we say, 'activities', I realised where you had come by these talents. But I also noticed that there has been no record of you having any contact with the police for a good number of years now..."

_If only she knew,_ thought Ash. _If there was a demand for bent coppers, I could start an agency._

"...and I thought, why should you have to end up here, hiding out in the wilds of Wales, to keep out of the way of the law?"

Ash held up his hand at this question. "That's not why I'm here," he said firmly, shaking his head. "One, this farmhouse was inherited from a relative and two, I'm retired, pure and simple. I just gave up doing what I did because it was time. End of story."

Her head to one side, Clark nodded slowly. "I see. I'm sorry I jumped to the wrong conclusion. You won't want this, then." She started to put the file back in her bag.

Ash leaned forward. "I'm sorry, that sounded ungrateful. I didn't mean that I wasn't interested in having a look at the file, or that I didn't appreciate you going to the trouble of finding it and bringing it all the way up here to show me."

"'Having a look' at it?" repeated Clark. She handed the folder to him. "I brought it for you to keep. I've got one for Stacie, too – don't tell her, though, I want it to be a surprise when I catch up with her later this week."

Doubly stunned now, Ash sat, the file unopened on his lap. "You could get in a lot of trouble, lady," he said, his voice deepening with gratitude.

"That's not to say there's no record of you in the police computers," continued the inspector. "There will still be basic information – your photograph, known addresses and associates, convictions – but not the depth and breadth of detail that's in the hard copy." She picked up her handbag and got to her feet. "Well, I must be off. I have friends in Oswestry who are expecting me."

Ash showed her to the door, still somewhat dazed by her visit. He shook her hand and thanked her again, and she was gone.

He was, therefore, not at all surprised to receive a phone call from Stacie on the following Friday.

"Ash, I've just had a visit from Inspector Clark, and she tells me she's been to see you, too. So I guess you know what I'm calling about."

"Well, unless she offered to make you an honorary special constable, I probably do, yeah."

"Is she for real? I mean, did you get the impression that maybe she wants to hold this over us, in return for a favour?"

This had occurred to Ash, too. He had been pondering the possible reasons for Clark's visit from the minute he'd set eyes on her that day. After all, the police officers he and Stacie had encountered over the last several years had been anything but on the level. "No, I don't think that's what she's about. Remember what Albert always says: 'It takes a con man to know a con man'. I reckon we'd have sussed her if she wasn't the real deal."

There was a pause and then Stacie said, "She was very impressed with what she called your 'cool head' under pressure." Ash could hear the amusement in Stacie's voice as she continued, "I think she took a bit of a shine to you, Ash. And, well, she's given us a chance to start with almost a clean slate – or the next best thing."

He murmured in agreement, and she went on, "So when are you and Moss coming to visit? I bet he misses me!"

Chuckling, Ash replied, "Yeah, he's pining away here." Then, in a more serious tone, he said, "Me too, Stace. Tell you what, when you've got everything sorted with your dad, you should come up here and take some time out from refereeing your parents."

"You have _no idea_ how near the mark that is. Seriously, I'm getting just a little tired of all the sniping and resentment. Now Dad's out of prison, he seems to have conveniently forgotten just how that happened. He's got this huge chip on his shoulder about how everyone's out to get him - including Mum, of course."

"Well, you can understand that," began Ash, prompting Stacie to exclaim, "If he would only show a little gratitude, or even just _pretend_ to be interested in what we went through to get him out! He hasn't mentioned the kidnapping, although he's well aware of it – his solicitor made sure he knew what was going on – you'd think he'd sprung himself single-handed, the way he bangs on. And don't get me started about Mum. I haven't spoken to her since...well, since just after the kidnapping, actually. She hasn't rung or made any attempt to get in touch, despite me leaving dozens of messages for her. And she's never been at home when I've popped round."

Ash could practically feel Stacie seething down the phone. "Stace, just get on a train and come. There's one leaving from Euston tomorrow lunchtime. Three hours, and you can be up here for 24-hour on-demand peace and quiet." He could tell she was wavering, and delivered the killer punch: "Moss and I'll meet you at Welshpool station."

Sounding happy and relieved, Stacie said, "That sounds fantastic. Are you sure, Ash? I don't want to impose..."

Ash snorted. "This is _me_ you're talking to. Just get yourself up to Euston tomorrow." He added, but not in the slightest as an afterthought, "And get a one-way ticket."


End file.
